‘Fortunately it is not too late to make amends,’ said Puri. ‘Now, I suggest we make some chai and then you tell us everything that occurred that fateful night – every detail. No stone should be left unturned.’

  Surjeet described the night the mob closed in and the panic in the household as Mantosh Singh and his father took the extraordinary step of shaving their beards and long hair and shedding all remnants of their religious identity.

  ‘Riya was where exactly?’ asked Puri.

  ‘In her room. Sir and his mother were keeping her locked inside. She’d been sedated with tablets.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Since giving birth to her second child a few days earlier.’

  ‘You’d visited her in her room when they were out of the house?’

  ‘Twice, yes. I took her some food. She had always been kind to me, given me a little extra salary here and there. We used to talk. I could always see she was unhappy. She missed her home, her parents. Mantosh-sir was cruel to her from the start.’

  ‘How did you get hold a copy of the key?’ asked Mummy.

  ‘I borrowed it from sir’s drawer.’

  She went on to describe how, the night they fled, the family members and the servants gathered at the back gate, but she sneaked back into the house unnoticed.

  Making her way quickly up the stairs, she slipped the key under Riya’s door and fled.

  ‘That was as much as I could do. I was worried sir would realize I had gone back inside. After that I didn’t know what happened to ma’am. As time went by and she wasn’t found, I just assumed she’d been killed … along with all the others.’

  ‘You told the police at the time that Mantosh Singh left the cinema where you were hiding in the middle of the night,’ Puri reminded her.

  ‘For that he became very angry with me and said that if I didn’t take back my statement then I would lose my job. I had to do what he said. My husband had gone and I had to work.’

  ‘You knew he’d gone back to the house to check that ma’am had been taken,’ said Puri.

  ‘Yes, I knew.’

  ‘But with the house burned to the ground, your secret was safe.’

  Puri added, almost casually, ‘Had his car been burned, also, all the evidence pertaining to the killing of his girl-child would have been destroyed, also.’

  Surjeet gave Puri a startled look. ‘How could you know about that?’ she asked.

  ‘Meaning how did I come to know that Riya gave birth to a second girl and they took it from her, swapping it for a baby boy? That is of no importance at the present time. What matters is whether or not you were in the house at the time of the birth.’

  ‘I was there,’ said Surjeet, who sounded almost relieved to have the opportunity to finally speak the truth. ‘The baby came suddenly, a month early. I stayed that night to help.’

  ‘You saw the girl-child?’ asked Puri.

  ‘I took up towels and warm water several times, but I was not permitted to enter the room.’

  ‘When did the baby come?’

  ‘At around two in the morning. I heard it crying.’ Surjeet’s hands were clutched tight in a convulsion of restrained emotion as she continued. ‘Thirty minutes later, Mantosh-sir left the house in his car,’ she said.

  ‘How long was he gone?’

  ‘The first time, one hour. Then he came to the kitchen to say ma’am had given him a boy.’

  ‘But Riya came to know the boy did not belong to her,’ guessed Mummy.

  ‘A mother knows,’ said Surjeet. ‘The boy didn’t take to her. She had a lot of trouble feeding him. Later, I heard whispers of a mother in the jhuggi who’d sold her baby to a rich family in Rajouri Garden.’

  ‘You’ve any idea where he buried the little girl?’ asked Puri.

  ‘It can’t have been far,’ she said.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Surjeet hesitated. ‘I had to stay in the house the following night and Mantosh-sir drove away again at two o’clock. I saw him through the kitchen window. He was carrying something in his arms … a small bundle. He returned at around three thirty. The sound of the engine woke me. In those days there were not so many cars. The next morning he had a cut on his left hand. It had to be bandaged.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Puri had often observed that the motive for most crimes was easy to comprehend. Jealousy, greed, poverty, stress, madness and conditioning could all play a part. If a husband murdered his wife in the hope of starting afresh with his lover it could be fathomed, though condemned. There were certain other crimes, however, which no rational, normal, feeling person could fathom. Such hideous acts of pure evil undermined the very notion of what it meant to be human, the idea that we had progressed beyond eating one another in the primeval mulch.

  Snuffing out a tiny, innocent life just because it was deemed to be the wrong sex was one such act – and left even the most experienced of detectives struggling to contemplate the horror of it all.

  Indeed, Puri spent most of the journey back to Punjabi Bagh staring silently out the window, past his own reflection, taking no interest in the route taken by Handbrake, which was far from the usual state of things.

  When they were about halfway across Vandemataram Marg, which runs along the Delhi Ridge (an uninhabited twenty-one-mile-long section of the one-and-a-half-billion-year-old Aravalli Range)1, however, Puri found himself considering that it was probably here along this road, somewhere amidst all the trees and shrubs, that Mantosh Singh had buried the body.

  ‘In the wee hours, he could have reached an isolated spot here in fifteen minutes, only,’ he said, finally breaking the silence.

  ‘What is your thinking, Chubby? That he disposed of the body on the second night?’

  ‘That seems the most likely explanation, going by Surjeet’s testimony. The first night he had to procure the boy child from the slum and make the swap and soon after he and or his mother did away with the girl baby. The body was kept hidden away for twenty-four hours and the following night – when Surjeet spotted Mantosh Singh through the kitchen window with a bundle in his hands – he placed the body in the dickie of the car, took a shovel and drove to some predetermined location where he could be sure he would not be spotted.’

  ‘Surjeet said he was gone for one hour and a half.’

  ‘Plenty of time to do the needful – including changing the tyre on his car.’

  Mummy threw him a puzzled look.

  ‘Apologies, Mummy, I neglected to tell you about the flat,’ said Puri before explaining that Bobby had remembered finding a sweet thorn sticking out of the spare tyre.

  ‘There are plenty of acacia trees on the Ridge,’ she said with a sigh.

  ‘But there is no question of finding the remains out here, if this is where he placed them,’ said Puri. ‘It would be like searching for a needle in multiple haystacks. We are talking hundreds of hectares.’

  Mummy considered for a moment and then said, ‘What if he led us to the spot, Chubby?’

  ‘Trick him into thinking we might get to the remains first? That is how things work on TV, Mummy-ji, but not in the real world. Number one, Mantosh Singh is not a man to panic. A cool customer all round, I would say. Second thing, I doubt he himself could again find where he put the body.’

  Mummy crossed her arms. ‘Why you’re sounding so defeatist, Chubby, ha? Someone might have seen something. A chowkidar, maybe? We should check the police reports. Could be his car was spotted by a patrol and written down in the record.’

  ‘I’ve other cases pending, a business to run, Mummy-ji. I don’t have the man hours.’

  ‘Man hours are not required, Chubby,’ she protested. ‘Mummy hours will suffice!’

  Puri stayed up late laying out his plans for the next day and reached Khan Market the following morning at eight.

  Thankfully everything was back to normal in the office with a full complement of staff at his beck and call. Door Stop soon brought him a cup of strong chai and a few biscuits, followed by Elizabeth Rani with his post and messages.

  By nine, Puri was ready to receive Inspector Singh, who was out of uniform, in jeans and a regular shirt.

  Their first order of business was the plan to catch Hari Dev, aka Hairy Toes, in the act of laundering his money.

  ‘It’s simple, sir,’ explained the officer. ‘I’ve got a plainclothes unit watching Delightful Marble Emporium. They’ll alert us when Hari Dev leaves for the bank. I will enter ahead of him, posing as a customer, and endeavour to identify Dev’s collaborator among the staff. A second unit will then apprehend Dev as he exits the bank.’

  ‘Have you considered putting on a disguise?’ asked Puri.

  Inspector Singh stood out, after all. Even without the uniform, he looked and moved like a cop.

  ‘I don’t really go in for that kind of thing,’ he said. ‘You really think it’s necessary, sir?’

  ‘I’m not one to tell others how to go about their business, Inspector-sahib, but you don’t exactly blend into the crowd.’

  ‘Perhaps some glasses would help?’

  ‘It would be a start.’

  Puri moved on to the Riya Kaur case, though decided not to mention his suspicion regarding the Rajouri Garden Police Station, wanting first to speak with Bobby and also to Riya to ascertain what she herself remembered.

  Inspector Singh paid close attention, asking the odd question here and there, and, at the end, blew out a long breath that denoted doubt and gave sail to a couple of pieces of paper on Puri’s desk.

  ‘Hard to get any of it to stick,’ he said. ‘On the charge of infanticide, it’s a non-starter as you say. On the attempted murder, a lawyer will argue that her husband didn’t leave her behind intentionally, that there was no way of reaching her. Our only hope is if Riya proves a reliable witness.’

  ‘As I intimated earlier, Dr Srivastava has brought Riya to Delhi and offered for her to remain under his protection for as long as she wishes. He told me when we spoke late last night that her memory is fractured. Some of her past she recalls vividly, other parts remain blank. We’ve agreed that the way forward is for her to be examined by a psychiatrist and she plans to see Riya later today. I suggest we speak again once I know more.’

  Inspector Singh stood to leave. ‘You really think glasses will help, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘You might care to switch your boots for everyday shoes, also,’ said Puri.

  ‘Or perhaps I should consider assigning someone else into the bank altogether. I don’t suppose your mother is available?’

  Puri stared up at him in alarm and Inspector Singh misinterpreted his reaction.

  ‘I know, sir, she’s busy with other pressing matters. No doubt she’s out there now, trying to figure out where Mantosh Singh buried the girl-child,’ he said. ‘I envy you having her as your partner. She is the most remarkable woman – a natural detective. To have entered that ashram posing as a widow and found Riya Kaur and to have the presence of mind to collect some of her hair for analysis … well, she deserves recognition. Truly. Once the case is done with, I intend to put her name forward for a civilian award.’

  Inspector Singh reached for the door and missed the daggers Puri shot at him with his eyes.

  Facecream arrived about ten minutes after Inspector Singh had gone on his way.

  Gupta had snored again all night – ‘Sounded like a hurricane’ – and Tulsi had fled at first light, swearing never to return, she reported.

  ‘Meaning his toothpaste got doctored again,’ said Puri.

  ‘Right. So I went back and checked the video for the couple of hours before he went to bed and we’ve got them,’ said Facecream.

  ‘Them?’

  ‘Better if you see for yourself.’

  She found the relevant video file on her smartphone. It showed a grainy image of Vikas Gupta’s bathroom from the perspective of a pinhole camera placed inside the light fitting above the sink.

  The time on the bottom of the screen read 21.03.

  Facecream forwarded it to 21.06 and a figure appeared. It was a young woman.

  ‘That’s not Tulsi,’ observed Puri.

  ‘No, it’s Ruchi.’

  ‘So she was the one after all.’

  ‘Wait and watch, boss.’

  Ruchi took a syringe with a needle attached out of her handbag, injected a solution into the tube and massaged the contents vigorously before placing it back next to the sink.

  ‘Bingo!’ said Puri. ‘Caught red-handed!’

  ‘There’s more,’ said Facecream.

  The video cut to the perspective of Gordon Gecko positioned up on the wall in the bedroom. It showed another woman standing in the door, keeping watch on the stairs.

  ‘That’s Tulsi,’ said Puri.

  When Ruchi emerged from the bathroom they exchanged a few words, shared a sneaky smile and went on their way.

  ‘They’ve conspired together.’ He frowned. ‘But why?’

  ‘I’m guessing Ruchi told Tulsi about Vikas jilting her and they decided to have bit of fun and make his life a misery,’ said Facecream.

  ‘It’s a little more than fun, surely. The marriage would seem to be over. Tulsi will not find a new husband easily,’ said Puri.

  ‘Actually, boss, I’m not sure that’s the case. I did a bit of checking earlier today and it seems Tulsi had a boyfriend herself while she was at university. Seems they were smitten with one another. And he himself is now divorced and available. In fact, it just so happened they met for coffee together this afternoon.’

  Puri shook his head slowly from side to side in disapproval. ‘What to do with these young people today,’ he said. ‘Respect for the institution of marriage is going out the window.’

  ‘That may be, boss,’ said Facecream, though she sounded less than convinced, ‘but we’re not out of the woods yet. How are we going to tell Ram Bhatt the truth? He’s still going to blame us for the breakup of the marriage. And we can hardly admit to all the illegal surveillance, not to mention the breaking and entering.’

  Puri had planned to drive over to see Bobby at home around ten thirty, by which time he was sure to have washed and finished his breakfast. When the time came to set off, however, the detective found plenty to get on with in the office. He had several prospective clients to contact. One said his wife was sharing details of their private life on Facebook and he wanted it stopped (this was a domestic matter, Puri pointed out), and another woman wanted him to investigate the death of her husband, who had suffered a fatal heart attack when a neighbour lit a strip of loud firecrackers outside his bedroom window in the middle of the night during Diwali celebrations, knowing full well that he had a weak heart.

  He discussed replenishing the petty cash with Elizabeth Rani.

  Puri even called Rumpi to speak about arrangements for Saturday when Radhika planned to bring Bishwanath Ganguly to the house. She also reminded him about the second-hand Skoda on offer from the neighbours.

  ‘I would look it over just as soon as I’ve finished inspecting the boyfriend,’ he said.

  But as midday fast approached, he knew that he could procrastinate no longer. He was duty-bound to find out whether Bobby had conspired to cover up what happened to Riya at the Rajouri Garden station house. And as he told himself, ‘Not knowing would be worse than knowing the worst.’

  Half an hour later, with a knot in his stomach, he found himself standing at his old mentor’s front door with his finger hovering over the buzzer.

  At that precise moment, purely by coincidence, Bobby opened the door.

  Both men gave a start, and in that instant showed in their own ways an unmistakable apprehension that had never existed in their relationship until now.

  ‘VP!’ exclaimed Bobby, trying to recover. ‘You gave me a shock.’

  ‘I was coming to see you, actually,’ said Puri, stating the obvious. ‘We need to talk, Uncle-ji.’

  His formality engendered a quizzical look. ‘Yes, of course, anything, let’s walk over to the park.’

  They sat on the same bench where they had chatted the other day.

  Bobby reached into his shirt pocket and, just like last time, removed a slightly sad-looking cigarette.

  ‘So how’s the case going, any progress?’ he asked.

  Puri came straight out and said it: ‘I – we – found Riya. She’s alive.’

  ‘Alive?’ Bobby repeated. ‘But how, where?’

  ‘She’s been in Vrindavan all this time. In a widow ashram. She’s suffered partial memory loss – can’t remember her name, where she’s from.’

  ‘Alive,’ Bobby repeated again, clearly amazed by the news. ‘Well, congratulations are in order. You’ve succeeded where I failed. Sir always said you would be the best of all of us.’

  ‘Without Mummy I would not have located her,’ Puri acknowledged.

  ‘Well, we all need a helping hand now and again, VP,’ said Bobby.

  He started to knead the cigarette between his fingers, trying to get out the chinks.

  ‘Vrindavan.’ Bobby gave a light, ironic guffaw. ‘It makes sense, if she was suffering from shock and amnesia. God knows I searched everywhere else. For three, four days. I went with her father to the hospitals, to the camps for the displaced and of course we looked in the streets. By then, they had dumped a lot of the bodies in the river so we searched along the banks. There were more bodies piled up at the vegetable market in Okhla as well. Many of them were burnt beyond recognition. Men, old women …’ Bobby’s voice cracked. It took him a few seconds before he got it back. ‘Finally we had to accept she was gone. Riya’s father cried in my arms. But what do you tell a father? “It will be OK? You’ll get over it?” If only he’d lived to see this day.’

  They sat in silence for a while, watching a few crows hopping around on the grass.

  ‘I need to know everything, Uncle-ji,’ said Puri eventually. ‘If there’s a chance of bringing charges, then I cannot turn a blind eye.’

  Bobby gave a nod and, though his cigarette was still slightly bent, he put it between his lips, lit the end and took a long, hard drag.

  Smoke spilled from his nose and out of his mouth as he said, ‘VP, listen to me, I would not blame you for thinking the worst. And God knows I’ve been a coward. But I was not involved in a cover-up. It was not I who doctored the file.’

 

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